


Don't You Forget About Me

by searchthemindpalace



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Swearing, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchthemindpalace/pseuds/searchthemindpalace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breakfast Club!AU. Cue the awesome music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't You Forget About Me

**Author's Note:**

> 1) The BIGGEST shoutout in the world to my friend [Lexi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlezza) AKA the best beta ever. I couldn't have done this without her. Please go check out her writing, because she is amazing!
> 
> 2) This is based on [this Tumblr post](http://ohcaptainrurn.tumblr.com/post/89719863761/stupidlullabies-high-school-au-where-its-a), but I tweaked it a bit for my preferred ships.
> 
> 3) TBC is my all-time favorite movie, so I drew a lot from the movie/characters and tried to mesh them as best as I could with the Marvel characters. This is a dialogue-heavy piece!

It is a typical sleepy Saturday in the suburbs of New York, the kind where nothing ever happens.  Especially nothing different. But what kind of story would this be if it were a normal day, if lives don’t change and the entire world shifts into a better light, even for an afternoon?

 

-

 

A rusty blue pick-up truck rolls into the parking lot of Nicholas Joseph Fury High School, and Steve Rogers huffs out a sigh. He parks the truck, leans his head back on the seat, and wishes he could be anywhere but here.

 

A roaring engine makes him lift his head in curiosity, and a jet black Mustang blows into the parking lot. It screeches to a halt in a space three down from Steve, and he watches as Clint Barton steps out of the car, crunching a cigarette under the heel of his high-top.

 

The two boys make eye contact, and a silent question passes between them: _Why the hell are you here?_

-

 

Bruce Banner sits with his head bowed in the passenger seat as his mother reassures him in her quiet voice.

 

“It’s just one detention, Bruce. Colleges can ignore one mistake, right?” she says, and Bruce looks up at her with tired eyes.

 

“Yeah, Mom. I’ll be fine.”

 

She gives him his bagged lunch and a tight smile. Bruce opens the door and walks as fast as he can away from the car. She needs to get home soon, and Bruce isn’t going to make another mistake he can’t take back.

 

-

 

Natasha Romanoff strides up to the building, headphones on and jacked up to a deafening level. As many times as she has done this, she thinks, there should be boot tracks worn into the concrete. Maybe she’d just carve her name into a brick one day and become a permanent fixture of the school. What an honor.

 

A sleek silver car slams on its brakes as Natasha crosses the pavement without bothering to look both ways. Bucky Barnes opens the door and steps out, watching Natasha stomp up the stairs. He turns around to say something to the driver, but the door is pulled shut and the car speeds out of the lot, leaving Bucky in a cloud of dust.

 

He hefts his bag onto his good shoulder and slowly treks into the school.

 

And this is when that sleepy Saturday turns into something great.

 

-

 

Vice Principal Alexander Pierce screams _don’t give me any of your bullshit_ without actually saying a word. However, he is the type of man that nobody takes seriously, in his too tight suit and condescending tones.

 

“Well, well, well. Look who was able to show up on time,” he says, pointedly looking at Natasha, who has her boots up on the table. She wiggles her fingers in a wave, sunglasses still perched on her nose.

 

“No sunglasses inside, Romanoff. And take off that sweatshirt, torn clothing is against dress code.”

 

Natasha looks up at Pierce over the rim of the glasses.

 

“But sir, the dress code only applies during regular class hours. Detention doesn’t fall under those parameters,” she says with an innocent tone in her voice. Clint snickers, and Steve elbows him to shut up.

 

“Well, little girl, as long as you are in detention, you fall under my _own_ parameters, so take off those damn glasses and that sweatshirt!”

 

Natasha sighs and takes off the glasses, tossing them on the table in front of her. They skitter across the smooth surface and land on the carpeted floor. She smirks and begins to slowly unzip her hoodie, and her black crop top comes into view.

 

“Jesus Christ, Romanoff. Fine, put the damn thing back on.”

 

The smirk never leaves her face.

 

Pierce clears his throat.

 

“It is now 7:06. You have exactly eight hours and fifty-four minutes to figure out why you are here and how to make sure you will not end up here again.”

 

Pierce gives Natasha a hard look and continues, “Although some of you are lost causes by now.”

Natasha blows a pink gum bubble in response.

 

“You will _not_ talk and you will _not_ sleep. In fact, today’s detention features something special.”

 

Pierce picks up the stack of paper and pencils he has brought in and begins to pass sheets out to the teenagers.

 

“By the end of today’s session, you will write an essay of no less than one thousand words describing to me who you think you are.”

 

“Is this a test?” Natasha asks. Pierce ignores her.

 

“My office is right across the hall, so any goofing off or dicking around is strongly advised against. Any questions?”

 

Natasha raises her hand. “I have a question.”

 

Pierce narrows his eyes in suspicious.

 

“Does your mother know you’re wearing her good suit?”

 

“I’ll answer that when I see you here next Saturday, young lady. Do not mess with me or I will make you regret it.”

 

Pierce walks out of the room, adjusting his jacket.

 

“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” Steve says once he’s gone. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Oh, don’t worry, goody-two-shoes. Just bat your eyelashes at Pierce and he’ll probably let you go within the hour,” Natasha replies, staring at her nails.

 

Steve turns to glare at her and she blows him a kiss. He just rolls his eyes and turns back around, his arms crossed across his broad chest.

 

“So what’s your story, golden boy? You accidently nail one of the administration with your arrows?” Natasha asks Clint, crumpling up her essay paper and throwing it over Clint’s head. He shrugs one shoulder and doesn’t turn around.

 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m in here, just like you. And I wanna get out of here, just like you.”

 

“Who says I wanna get out of here?”

 

“Because why the hell would anyone wanna be stuck in here more than once?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Beats watching cartoons. It’s all shit these days, anyways.”

 

“Guys, Principal Pierce said we can’t talk. We should just write our papers,” Bruce interjects quietly.

 

“So are you guys, like, _best_ friends?” Natasha continues, motioning between Clint and Steve. “Because you both came in here together and it was just really, really cute.”

“Knock it off, Romanoff,” Steve says. Clint turns around to stick out his tongue.

 

“I do have an actual first name, as much as Pierce likes to pretend I’m subhuman and don’t deserve to be referred to by it.”

 

She leans over the table and gets in Clint’s space, her red hair brushing his shoulder. Clint swallows nervously, but she just smiles.

 

“My name’s Natasha, but _you_ can call me Natalia,” she says, winking.

 

“Quit bothering him, Nat! He’s not interested,” Steve says, an annoyed furrow in his brow.

 

“Ooh, a nickname? I didn’t realize we were so close, Rogers. You’re pretty protective over him. Maybe you’re more than friends? Or is it unrequited love? Are you pining?”

 

A blush creeps into Steve’s face, and Natasha laughs out loud.

 

“I am _not_ pining!” Steve protests.

 

A cough comes from the back of the room, and everyone turns to see Bucky with his head on the table and his hands on top of his mess of black hair.

 

“Is he OK?” Bruce asks. Natasha shrugs.

 

“This is a good day for him. Just let him go.”

 

Bucky picks up his head and looks at Steve, who gives him a small smile of reassurance. Bucky drops his face back onto the table with a _thunk_.

 

“Who the hell are you to judge anyone, anyways? Everyone knows you don’t do anything around here. Why do you bother to come to school and blow everything off? You can do that at home,” Steve says.

 

“Oh, you’re right, Rogers. Maybe I’ll go out for cheerleading and the yearbook club and try not to shoot myself in the temple while being surrounded by imbeciles.”

 

Bruce clears his throat.

 

“Um, I’m in the math club, ya know? And the physics club. We’re not…imbeciles.”

 

“Bless your heart, Bruce,” Natasha says.

 

“You know, the only reason you knock everything is because you’ve never tried to do something meaningful in your life. All you do is get in trouble for no goddamn reason,” Clint says.

 

“Yeah, well, your kinds of extracurricular organizations don’t exactly extend invitations to me. Whether or not it’s because of me or because they’re a bunch of dicks is up for debate, I suppose.”

 

“You wouldn’t know, Natasha. You don’t know any of us.”

 

“Such a pity, I’m sure.”

 

Suddenly, they hear footsteps approaching and fall silent, facing the front of the room. Pierce enters the room, a frown firmly planted on his face.

 

“Who did I just hear talking?” he asks.

 

No one speaks.

 

“Someone tell me who the hell was talking just now!”

 

“You said we weren’t allowed to speak, sir, so why would any of us have been talking?” Bruce says.

 

“Shut it, bookworm. I know someone was talking in here.”

 

“With all due respect, sir, we are just trying to complete our detention like good students and you are disrupting the peaceful environment we have created,” Natasha says.

 

Bucky lets out a snort of laughter.

 

“Don’t you mouth off to me, sweetheart. You just got another Saturday with me.”

“Oh, fantastic. Can it be next weekend? My schedule’s a little packed after that.”

“Absolutely. You can put down the week after that as well, so I guess you’ll have to clear your schedule.”

 

“What can I say, I’m thrilled.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure that’s what you want all these kids to believe. Are you finished yet?”

 

Natasha doesn’t answer.

 

“One month, I’ve got you. Maybe if you tried to spend more time being a decent kid and less time trying to impress the people around you, you’d actually add up to something.”

 

Pierce turns to leave.

 

“The next time I hear noise coming from this room, I will bring down the hammer.”

 

Natasha mouths ‘bring down the hammer’ and slams her fist on the table.

 

-

 

11:30 rolls around, and Pierce comes back into the room.

 

“All right ladies, you get thirty minutes for lunch,” he says.

 

“Here?” Steve asks.

 

“Yes, here.”

“Wouldn’t the cafeteria be a better place to eat?”

“Good suggestion. I’ll take it into consideration for next time.”

 

“Excuse me, Alexandra,” Natasha says, “sorry, _Alexander_ , will milk be provided for our meal?”

Pierce scowls.

 

“We are pretty thirsty, sir,” Steve adds.

 

“Dehydration kills hundreds every day,” Clint chimes in.

 

“Fine! There’s a soda machine in the teachers’ lounge!” Pierce says.

 

He points at Steve and Bucky.

 

“You and you! Come with me.”

 

-

 

“What’s your name?” Steve asks Bucky once they’re in the hallway.

 

“James,” he answers quietly.

 

“You don’t really look like a James.”

 

“I go by Bucky.”

 

“Bucky…interesting. I like it. It suits you.”

 

Bucky stares at Steve, blue eyes piercing through Steve and making him shift awkwardly.

 

“Um, well, I’m Steve,” he says, holding out a hand. Bucky shakes it cautiously.

 

“So…your arm looks cool. What happened to if, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

Bucky tugs on the cut-off sleeve of his gray shirt.

 

“Accident.”

 

“What kind of accident?”

 

“Why are you here?” Bucky asks, ignoring Steve’s question.

 

“Oh, well, um,” Steve starts, “i-it’s kinda complicated. Basically, I’m in here to do penance instead of getting seriously punished. I’m trying not to mess up before college since I wanna play. I don’t know, it’s a long story.”

 

“Yeah, that’s real interesting, kid,” Bucky says, stepping up to Steve and looking at him through narrowed eyes. “Now why don’t you tell me why you’re _really_ in here.”

 

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but snaps it shut and steps back.

 

“You know what, just forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“That’s what they all say.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

They walk back to the library in silence.

 

-

 

“What’s on the menu for lunch today, Bruce?” Natasha asks. Bruce shrugs.

 

“Just your basic lunch, I guess. My mom…made it.”

 

Natasha takes everything out of Bruce’s lunch bag and lays it all out on the table.

 

“What a well-balanced lunch, Bruce. Is your mom Martha Stewart?”

 

Bruce glares at her.

 

“Back off, Natasha.”

 

“I can imagine life in Bruce’s house.”

 

Natasha begins talking in a deep voice.

 

_“Hey, dear!”_

She switches to a higher-pitched voice.

 

“ _Yes, sweetie?”_

_“Isn’t our son swell? He’s just so smart. He won first prize at the science fair!”_

_“That’s just wonderful!”_

_“Isn’t our life great?”_

_“Yes, dear! It sure is!”_

Natasha makes kissing noises, and then mimes strangling herself.

 

Bruce stands up from the table and knocks over his chair, his hands gripping the edge of the table. His face has turned a bright shade of red in anger, and he fixes a blazing stare on Natasha, who has gone extremely quiet and just a bit pale.

 

“You don’t have a _fucking clue_ what you’re even talking about, OK? You don’t know me, and you sure as hell don’t know my GODDAMN FAMILY!”

 

Bruce shoves his lunch back in his bag and stalks to the very back of the library. Natasha bites her lip and sits down at her table. She begins to wring her hands, worry lines now prominent across her forehead.

 

“Way to go, Nat,” Steve says, biting into one of the three sandwiches he brought.

 

Clint gives her a sad look, and when she looks up, he’s surprised to see mistiness in them. She quickly lowers her head, fiery hair obscuring her face.

 

Bucky gets up from his table, grabs his bag, and goes to the back of the room as well.

 

Steve follows him.

 

-

 

They all end up in the back of the library. Natasha and Clint sit on one couch, quietly talking. Steve, Bucky and Bruce sit on another couch.

 

“So, do you got a middle name or somethin’?” Steve asks Bruce, trying to break the ice.

 

“Well, actually—“ Bruce begins, but Bucky cuts him off.

 

“Your name is Robert Bruce Banner, you’re five-foot-nine, one-hundred and twenty-eight pounds, and you live on 128 Ashbury Drive.”

 

Steve and Bruce stare at him with wide eyes. Bucky reaches into his bag and brings out a brown object.

 

“I stole your wallet.”

 

Steve laughs loudly while Bruce grabs his wallet, shuffling through it to make sure nothing is missing.

 

“Why’d you steal my wallet?”

 

“Because I could.”

 

Steve laughs again, and Bucky grins. Bruce just huffs out a breath and puts his wallet back in his jeans pocket.

 

“What else do you have in there? Did you steal my wallet, too?” Steve asks jokingly, pretending to pat the pockets on his letterman jacket worriedly.

 

The grin leaves Bucky’s face, and he takes his bag and dumps it out on the couch.

 

Packets of food, at least three bottles of water, a pair of shoes, a bunch of mismatched socks, men’s and women’s jewelry, a switchblade, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a comb, deodorant, a hat and clothes fall out, and Steve’s jaw drops.

 

“Jesus Christ!”

 

“Do you _always_ carry that much stuff in your bag?” Bruce asks. Bucky nods.

 

“You never know what you’ll need if you ever need to split town. So I just carry it all the time.”

 

“Why would you wanna split?” Bruce asks.

 

“My home life…isn’t great,” Bucky replies.

 

Bruce draws his lips into a thin line. Steve reaches out and puts his hand on Bucky’s left arm to comfort him. Bucky freezes.

 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Steve asks, earnesty in his blue eyes.

 

Bucky’s face takes on a slightly panicked look, and he begins to shove stuff back in his bag.

 

“Прости, мне нужно идти, можно я пойду, пожалуйста,” he says. **(1)**

 

“Hey, it’s OK, just calm down. Do you really wanna run away?” Steve asks, and Bucky leaps to his feet.

 

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

 

He walks over to a shelf of books. Bruce gives Steve a confused look, but Steve gets up and goes after him.

 

“Hey, do you wanna talk?”

 

“No!”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Just leave me alone!”

 

“Is it really that bad? Is it your parents?”

 

Bucky jerks his head in a nod.

 

“What do they do?”

 

“They…control…me.”

 

“That’s parents, though, isn’t it?”

 

“Control isn’t love, Rogers! Do your parents control you? Do they try to tell you how to look and how to act and when to fucking _eat_ and who you can talk to? Do they try to insert themselves into every part of your life to make sure you don’t fuck up and make them look bad, but when the time comes that you need to be treated like a goddamn human, they treat you like you don’t exist? Like you’re just someone they can show off when they’re proud and hide when they aren’t?”

 

Steve swallows and wraps his arms around himself, as if he were holding himself together.

 

“I-I don’t have parents. I haven’t had them in a long time. So I don’t know control or love or parents at all.”

 

“Well, I don’t know _love_ either, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t come from a pair of fists, so maybe you should consider yourself on the sad side of lucky.”

 

Steve’s eyes widen, and Bucky can see a quiet rage in them.

 

“They _hurt_ you?”

 

“In laymen’s terms, I guess that’s what you’d call it.”

 

“Bucky, stop! No, that…that isn’t love. That’s _never_ love. You—“

 

Steve swallows and looks Bucky in the eyes.

 

“You deserve real love, OK?”

 

Bucky is quiet, but he leans on the shelf and tilts his head forward onto Steve’s shoulder.

 

“I guess we both have problems,” he murmurs.

 

Steve just uncrosses his arm and drapes one across Bucky’s shoulder. He presses his cheek into the top of Bucky’s head and sighs.

 

“I guess we do.”

 

-

 

Clint and Natasha stare in silence at Bucky and Steve.

 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Clint wonders aloud.

 

“I don’t know. James doesn’t talk much, even to me. But they’re kind of precious, aren’t they?”

 

“I think you have a strange obsession with matchmaking.”

 

“What? Me? What’s wrong with being curious about people’s personal lives? Isn’t that human nature? It’s been the downfall of empires for centuries. I should know—I’m Russian.”

 

Clint chuckles and tugs on one of the strings of Natasha’s hoodie so they’re uneven. She curses in Russian and swats his hand away, fixing the string.

 

“You know what I think?” Clint says.

 

“Um, that the amount of abstract art in this room should be illegal?”

 

“I think you secretly like to think about people being happy. I think you’re a big softie under all the jabs and sarcasm.”

“Well, thank you for your input, Dr. Phil. How much will this session cost?”

 

“Maybe a cup of coffee sometime? When we aren’t being held against our will?”

 

“You drive a hard bargain, Barton.”

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

“Calm down.”

 

“It’s a yes.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

-

 

“So what did you actually do to get stuck in here, Rogers? Did you save one too many kittens from a tree?”

 

The group has migrated to the upper level of the library and sits in a makeshift circle on the ground.

 

“Did you hear about Blake getting sent to the hospital?”

 

“Yeah, dude, everyone did. I heard he got punched so hard his head spun all the way around,” Clint replies. Bruce nods. Bucky snorts.

 

“Well, I don’t think that happened, but uh, it was me that…got him sent…there,” Steve says, scratching the back of his neck out of embarrassment.

 

“You’re shitting me,” Natasha says, and Steve throws her a glare.

 

“Surprise, Nat.”

 

“But isn’t he one of your teammates or whatever? I didn’t think gorillas attack those of their own pack.”

 

“I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m think perfect guy, OK? Just because I throw a football, people think I should be this ideal person and I can’t get angry about shit, but I do.”

 

Steve clenches his fists and the furrow returns to his brow.

 

“I get _pissed off_. A _lot_. Blake’ s a jerk. He’s a bully. But he’s my receiver. One day, I was walking with coach after practice and we found him throwing a kid into his locker in the gym. You know, the ones in the gym are pretty big, and this kid was so small, I guess Blake just figured he’d fit inside. Do you know what my coach said when he saw that? ‘Kid’s gotta learn to fend for himself.’ I tried to tell coach to report him, but he told me to look the other way. From then on out, if I saw something, I had to keep my mouth shut, or I’d be off the team. I don’t have any parents, I work a crap job. I _need_ to get into college. For the longest time, I couldn’t do a damn thing to help any of those kids. I was selfish.”

 

Steve wiped his eyes and continued.

 

“I used to be a real sick kid when I was little. Like really sick. I got kicked around a lot, and for no reason other than I was easy to kick. I’d try to fight back, but I’d always lose. Somehow, my mom got me into some clinical trials for some medicines to try and help before she passed, and they really worked. I could finally stand up to those guys. And then…I _became_ one of those guys. I let it happen. I sat back and let these guys push everyone around. I guess…I guess I snapped.”

 

“So what actually happened?” Clint asks.

 

“I caught Blake in the back parking lot. I guess these two girls, they’re going together, and Blake’s harassing them. I told him to knock it off, and he wouldn’t. I shoved him, told him to go home, and he said, ‘What, Rogers? You standin’ up for lesbians now? You some time of fag or somethin’?’ And he just had this disgusted look on his face, and he kept messing with those girls and I just…well, I sent him to the hospital.”

 

A beat of silence passes between the teenagers.

 

“Well, you’re right. Blake’s a bully. He beat up pretty much all my friends at one point,” Bruce says.

 

“I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from. And I was done ignoring one right in front of me. So yeah…that’s why I’m here. For trying to protect people.”

 

“Really? Let’s face it, Rogers—you waited until he insulted _you_ to do something. That doesn’t put you above any hothead jockstrap who gets his ego bruised,” Natasha says, rolling her eyes.

 

“Give him a break, Natasha. He’d been threatened if he said anything. You can’t blame the guy for cracking,” Clint retorts.

 

“Oh, don’t _even_ , Barton. I don’t need a lecture on ego and image from _you_ of all people. You’re the star of the school. You’re the perfect athlete, the class president, you’ll be the prom king. You are this school’s prized possession.”

 

“Yeah, well, you think that’s what I want? I didn’t _ask_ to be put on this fucking pedestal!”

 

“Oh yeah, you’re really suffering. Didn’t you end up in here because you played hooky? Yeah, you’ve got a fatal flaw.”

 

“I ditched class to race fucking cars, Natasha! It’s not like I just hung out in the gym kicking the shit out of everything like you do. I’m going stir crazy in my own life! I want to be able to do whatever the hell I want to do! I want to fucking, like, quit school and join the circus or something! I wanna be free of all these stupid responsibilities that _I didn’t even ask for_. My parents are _dead_. And everyone I’ve tried to look up to has stabbed me in the fucking back, so how the _hell_ are people gonna look up to me?”

 

“That’s literally the most conceited thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Bucky says.

 

“It’s the truth! I didn’t ask for it!” Clint replies, a defensive tone hard in his voice.

 

“Barton, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve never idolized you a day in my life,” Bruce says.

 

Natasha laughs hard, and Clint turns on her.

 

“Oh yeah, Natasha? What’s so great about _your_ life? All you do is float around this school and tick everyone off. You never think of the consequences of what you’re doing. All you care about is yourself and the rest of the world can go fuck themselves, right? As long as you get the final word. As long as you come out looking tougher than everyone else.”

 

“That’s me, Barton. You hit the nail right on the head.”

 

“Yeah, well it’s all a _lie_.”

 

Natasha’s eyes snap up to Clint’s, and tension stretches between the two immediately.

 

“Ex _cuse_ me, Barton?”

 

“You heard me. It’s all a lie. You say you don’t need a lesson in image from me? Well, too bad. This is what _I_ think. _I_ think your life sucks just as much as ours do, but for different reasons, because no one’s life is perfect. No one is impenetrable. No one builds up a wall as high as yours for the hell of it. You’re miserable, and you just want to make everyone feel as miserable as you most of the time. But I keep seeing the real you underneath it all. I see someone who has a conscience and does feel bad when she hurts someone’s feelings. I see someone who wants to see people be happy together. I see someone who has a bit of a heart left, even if you try so hard to make sure everyone believes you have none.”

 

A hush falls over the group, and they’re anxious to see how Natasha reacts. There is color high on her cheeks and she’s visibly shaking. However, just when everyone thinks she’s going to lunge and punch Clint in the face, she crumples. Tears stream down her face, and she buries her head in her hands. She draws a shaky breath and finally speaks.

 

“I’m adopted. I don’t know who my real parents are. My father refuses to tell me _anything_ about them, just that they didn’t _want_ me. It’s just me and him, and he ignores me. I could win the goddamn Peace Prize and he wouldn’t care. He’s _never_ happy, and he’s always working, and he never talks about what he does and never asks how I’m doing and if I’m doing OK. He just works and works and pretends I don’t exist, and I couldn’t figure out what I could do to get him to just _notice_ me for once, so I started skipping class and sneaking out, and he _still doesn’t give a shit_. Why? Why doesn’t he care? Why didn’t anyone care about me?!”

 

Natasha is near hysterics, breathing heavily, and Clint just pulls her into his arms to try and calm her down. The others look on in shocked silence.

 

“We care about you, Nat,” Steve says, and Natasha lets out a watery laugh.

 

“That’s all fine and dandy to say now, Rogers. It’s just us in here. What about Monday, when we all go back to school and have to pretend we don’t know each other?”

 

“I wouldn’t do that!” Steve replies.

 

“Bullshit, you wouldn’t. What if Bruce or Bucky came up to you in the hall and said hi? What would you do? You’d go right back to how you were before you beat the shit out of Blake. You’d fall right back into your pattern. You really think because you defend someone one time that you’re a hero? Well, you _aren’t!_ ”

 

Natasha pulls herself out of Clint’s grasp, but he grabs her arm.

 

“Nat, come on. You gotta have more faith in us than that! And what about you? What if Steve came up to _you_ in the hallway and offered to spar with you? What if I asked you out in the courtyard? You’d shoot me down and make a remark about me being the golden boy because you have your own image to uphold.”

 

“You hypocrite! You’re the biggest liar of us all! You’d never ask me out anywhere in front of your adoring fans. You wouldn’t be seen within a half-mile radius of me in public!”

 

“You know what’s amazing?” Bruce cuts in with a raised voice. Everyone turns to look at him, exasperated looks on their faces.

 

“It’s amazing how you guys are so worried about the stupidest things like being embarrassed in front of your friends because of who you talk to. That _amazes_ me. I _wish_ that could be all I worry about all the damn time, but I guess I’m not that lucky.”

 

No one says a word, so Bruce takes a breath and goes on.

 

“Do you know what it’s like to live in constant fear? Do you have any idea what it’s like to feel like a prisoner of war in your home? That one word could get yourself killed? _Do you?_ You wanna know why I got so pissed off earlier, Natasha? Because my family is _not_ perfect. My dad decided a long time ago that the only thing he needed to care about was when he was gonna get his next drink, and maybe how much it would cost. I haven’t seen him sober a day of my _life_ , and you know, I could maybe ignore it if he was just getting drunk and passing out or something, but no. Once he gets drunk, my mom becomes his punching bag. Bad day at work? Whiskey and a beating. Car broke down on the side of the road on the way home? My mom gets a beer-driven lecture about how she doesn’t ‘fucking _do_ anything for this _goddamn family_ ’.”

 

Bruce’s fists are clenched so tight that his nails begin to dig crescents into his palms. Sweat dots his brow, and the angry red color is back in his cheeks.

 

“All I can do is try to take most of the heat from him, but he still always goes back to her. My mother is a damn _saint_ , and he treats her like she’s nothing. He treats us both like we’re nothing to him. I graduate next year—what am I gonna do? I can’t deal with it anymore. Every day I’m in that house, I get this much closer to wanting to kill him in his sleep. But if I leave…my mother would be dead in a month. The police have been to our house so many times, I’ve lost count. My father’s got a way with words, I guess.”

 

Bruce lets out a hollow laugh and glances at the other teenagers, who are watching him with stricken faces.

 

“And you’re worried about your _image_.”

 

Bucky is the first to speak.

 

“So how did you get stuck in here?”

 

“I bought a knife so I could, ya know, defend myself or something and I left it in my locker one day. It fell out and a teacher saw it.”

 

“What kind of knife was it?”

 

“Swiss army.”

 

Bucky tries to slap a hand over his mouth to stop his guffaw of laughter, but he isn’t nearly fast enough. He breaks down in laughter and rolls on his back. Natasha begins to giggle, which quickly spreads to Clint and Steve. Even Bruce begins to laugh, and he shakes his head with a smile on his face.

 

“You gonna corkscrew him to death, Banner?” Natasha asks, which sends them into fresh peals of laughter.

 

Eventually, they quiet down and let a silence fall over them.

 

“We live in a fucked up world, my friends,” Bucky says, and everyone nods in agreement.

 

“There isn’t anything we can do about it. You grow up, the world sucks. It’s unavoidable,” Natasha replies.

 

“I can’t believe that. I have to think that things could get better,” Steve says.

 

Bucky knocks his shoulder into Steve’s. They both smile.

 

-

 

There’s an hour left of detention. The kids are sitting on the front table, lined up facing the clock and watching the minute hand tick closer and closer to freedom.

 

“Hey, Bruce?” Natasha says, and Bruce looks over.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Are you gonna write your paper?”

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“Well, don’t you think it’s a waste of time if we all wrote a paper? I think we’d all say the same thing, wouldn’t we?”

 

“You just don’t wanna write your paper, do you, Nat?”

 

“I really don’t. But you’re the smartest. We trust you to say the right thing.”

 

Bucky and Steve nod in agreement. Clint offers up a smile. Bruce rolls his eyes, a grin on his own face.

 

“Yeah yeah, I’ll write the paper.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Natasha leans over and kisses Bruce on the cheek, and a blush creeps along the bridge of his nose.

 

She leaps off the table and grabs Bucky’s hand, dragging him to an office room on the other side of the library. Steve snickers at the panicked look in his face as he is tugged away.

 

Bruce begins to scratch his pencil across the paper.

 

-

 

“Зачем ты красишь мне глаза?” Bucky asks.

“Это подчеркнет их цвет. Я совсем чуть-чуть,” replies Natasha.

“Почему ты это делаешь?”

“Потому что ты не сопротивляешься. И я думаю, что Стиву понравится.”

“Стиву?! При чем тут Стив?”

“Ты его хочешь, не ври мне.”

“Я тебя иногда ненавижу.”

“Я тоже тебя люблю. Теперь надень эту рубашку. И ради бога, собери свои гребаные волосы.” **(2)**

 

-

 

Bruce is scribbling madly when Natasha and Bucky return to the main room of the library. Natasha clears her throat, and it echoes in the empty space. The boys look up, and Bucky flushes at the range of reactions. Bruce glances over at Steve, whose mouth hangs open, and gives him a thumbs-up. Clint just nods in approval, an amused glint in his eyes.

 

Natasha has tied Bucky’s long hair back into a loose ponytail and smudged some black liner around his eyes, bringing out their blue color. She has also found a red button-up shirt in his bag for him to change into. Bucky’s hands are shoved in his back pockets, and he wishes his hair could cover the blush on his face.

 

Natasha drags him back over in front of Steve and returns to Clint’s side, chest puffed up with pride.

 

“You are _such_ a softie,” Clint whispers in her ear, and she just jabs him in the gut with her elbow.

 

Bucky rubs the back of his neck. Steve’s jaw is still slack. Clint snickers and closes it with a _snap_.

 

“You’re drooling, dude,” Clint comments.

 

“Wow, you…look…,” Steve begins, but trails off, unable to find any word to convey a single thought in his head.

 

“Is it OK then? Nat forced me to put on the eye stuff, so…”

 

“No, it looks…great. It brings out your eyes.”

 

Steve reaches out and brushes a stray lock of Bucky’s hair behind his ear.

 

“And it’s nice to see your face.”

 

Bucky’s blush deepens further, and Steve gives him a smile that seems to radiate light.

 

Natasha mimics shooting an arrow at them.

 

“I’m a genius.”

 

“You’re nosy.”

 

“Ta-may-toe, ta-mah-toe.”

 

Steve glances over at Natasha and grins. Everything in his expression reads _thank you_ loud and clear. She nods understandingly, failing to hide the smile on her face.

 

Bucky takes a step back, holding up a hand.

 

“I forgot something.”

 

He fishes in his back pocket and takes out his switchblade, tossing it over to Bruce. He grabs it and looks at him with wide eyes.

 

“I can get another one,” Bucky says, shrugging a shoulder. “You need it more than I do.”

 

Bruce’s look can only be described as grateful.

 

-

 

Steve and Bucky sit on the tailgate of the blue pick-up truck. Steve has an arm around Bucky, and the dark-haired boy wonders if it’s possible for one’s face to be permanently frozen in a beaming smile.

 

“You know, if you ever need a break from your parents, I’m on my own. My place gets kinda lonely,” Steve suggests, and Bucky chuckles.

 

“Are you propositioning me for a sleepover, punk?”

“Don’t call it a sleepover, jerk. It’s not like we’re twelve.”

 

“We are definitely _not_ twelve.”

Bucky quirks his eyebrows and Steve throws his head back with a laugh.

 

“You’re ridiculous.”

 

“Isn’t it endearing?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Steve leans down and kisses Bucky, cradling his face. Bucky grabs the lapels of Steve’s jacket and pulls him as close as he can, basking in the sunshine.

 

-

 

Clint and Natasha sit in the Mustang, unsuccessfully trying to spy on the two boys.

 

“I can’t see a damn thing, Barton.”

“Will you relax and let them have their moment? Who knows what’s gonna happen for them once we finally drive outta here. Let them be happy.”

 

“What’s gonna happen to us, then? You’re not very good at masking your thoughts,” Natasha says, focusing back on Clint.

 

“I’m still offering coffee. It sounds like you could use someone to talk to on a regular basis.”

 

“You still wanna associate after this trainwreck of a day?”

 

“Consider this our first date. We’ll just do better next time.”

 

Natasha laughs and looks at Clint with a thoughtful gaze.

 

“ _Fallaces sunt rerum species_ ,” she says, and Clint furrows his brow in confusion.

 

“What’s that mean? Wait, was that Latin?” he asks.

 

“I also do ballet,” she replies, leaning forward to kiss him. Clint freezes in surprise, and then reciprocates in earnest. When the finally break for air, Clint is light-headed.

 

“I can dig that.”

 

Natasha snorts and opens the passenger door, stepping into the brisk afternoon air.

 

“I thought I could drive you home,” Clint offers, and Natasha pokes her head back into car with a smile.

 

“It means I’ll see you at City Lights Café, Tuesday after the last bell,” she replies, shutting the door and making her way out to the road.

 

Clint stares after her, and if he happens to see her do a pirouette in the middle of the empty road, he won’t mention it to her on Tuesday.

 

Clint turns over the engine and lets the roar roll through him. For the first time in his life, it’s the second best feeling in the world.

 

-

 

As Natasha walks down the street, she flips through the photos on her phone.

 

Bruce leaning back in his chair with a pencil behind his ear, holding up the essay victoriously with a real smile on his face.

 

Bucky trying on Steve’s letterman jacket and flipping the bird at the camera (Natasha had giggled and called him ‘cute’).

 

Pictures of Clint sitting on top of the strange, abstract statues in the library, and everyone looking up in confusion because they had no idea anyone could even _climb_ one of those things.

 

And a group picture with all of their faces squished in as Natasha held out her phone to snap them all.

 

A breeze picks up, leaves skitter and crunch under her feet, and her hair gets mercilessly tangled.

 

As she sets the group picture as her lock screen, she finds that she couldn’t care less.

 

 

_Dear Vice Principal Pierce,_

_We think it’s absurd that we had to sacrifice an entire Saturday to write an essay trying to explain to you who we are. Because no matter what we say or what we do, you, like the rest of the world, will continue to define us in words that are simple, with meanings that are elementary. You define us as a brute, a prince, a loner, a brainiac, and a troublemaker. You try to take away our power with labels, but we carve our own paths. Is that what you wanted?_

_Sincerely,_

_The Avengers_

_We will change the world._

**Author's Note:**

> (1) “I'm sorry, I have to go, I have to go, please.”
> 
> (2) “Why are you putting makeup on my eyes?”
> 
> “Because it brings out their color. It’s not that much.”
> 
> “Why are you doing this?”
> 
> “You’re letting me. And because I think Steve will like it.”
> 
> “Steve?! Why does Steve matter?”
> 
> “You wanna jump his bones, don’t lie to me.”
> 
> “I hate you sometimes.”
> 
> “I love you, too. Now put on this shirt. And for God’s sake, pull back your fucking hair.”


End file.
